


Buried

by HeavensCrack



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Bounce a Coin bingo- whump, Buried Alive, Gen, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Apologizes, Hurt/Comfort, This is platonic but could eventually be OT3?, Whump, by bottom Jaskier you mean bottom of a pit yeah?, post-01.06 Rare Species, totally inaccurate usage of a xenovorex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:08:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26828632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeavensCrack/pseuds/HeavensCrack
Summary: Jaskier gets buried alive. Will Geralt find him in time?
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 7
Kudos: 74
Collections: Bounce A Coin Bingo





	Buried

**Author's Note:**

> This is for the Bounce a Coin server’s bingo, filling the prompt for “whump”. 
> 
> This was heavily inspired by Scream 02.10. Man I’m just such a sucker for that episode and the buried alive trope. If you like gore and teenage angst, please watch Scream, the TV show is so good. 
> 
> Definitely should be working on school instead and yet here we are! 
> 
> All my mistakes are my own, including the author’s choice of magic working how I want it to.

“It’s so dark,” the voice says. “I can’t see… I can’t see. Where am I?” 

Geralt closes his eyes. He doesn’t know when the small box ended up in his saddle bags- presumably forgotten in the quick rummage through the bags- but he does know that it hasn’t shut up for the last half hour.

It scared the shit out of him when he first heard the small voice coming from Roach’s side, the mumbling muffled by the fabric, but so _constant,_ familiar. It wasn’t a voice he expected to hear. 

And now, it won’t stop. It’s snatches of conversation, meaningless chatter. _As always._ But this time, when Geralt tries to respond, there’s no delighted smile, no rolling of the eyes, no offended scoff. It’s as if he’s not heard at all. 

“I don’t think I like this,” the voice continues. “I rather don’t like being stuck in one place. This…” A knocking sound. A nervous laugh. “This is pretty stuck. Oh Melitele. It is tight.” 

Geralt can hear the shakiness, the rising panic in the tone that only someone who’s known the man for over two decades can pick up. What the fuck is happening that’s got Jaskier so afraid? And trying to reach out to Geralt, of all people?

“I’m not a praying man, can’t say I quite believe in the gods, but I uh, might be willing to change my mind.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt presses the xenovox to his lips. “Jaskier, can you hear me?” 

“Please help me,” Jaskier whispers.

Geralt murmurs some encouraging words to Roach and digs his heels into her sides, spurring her to go faster. 

_“To pull on my horn, as it rises in the morn, for ‘tis naught but bad luck-”_ Jaskier’s voice cracks. It’s his seventh rendition of The Fishmonger’s Daughter. It’s not the first time Geralt has heard him sing this over and over- usually when Jaskier wants something, because he _knows_ how much Geralt hates it. This time though, it seems almost desperate. A distraction. 

Over the last hour, the situation has been made clear. 

_It’s so dark. A knocking sound. The fear._ Jaskier is underground. 

“It seems as though I have fucked the puck on this one,” Jaskier laughs. It falls flat. “I’ve been in worse situations, at least I’m not dying… what’s a box compared to a djinn in the throat?” 

Geralt knows what Jaskier is thinking. _It’s the same._ Jaskier doesn’t like pressure on his throat, not after the djinn. He doesn’t button his doublets all the way, he panicked the one time after the djinn Geralt grabbed him by the scruff of the neck to pull him away from a bandit. Geralt knows Jaskier hates anything restricting his airways. He also knows Jaskier is going to slowly suffocate in a coffin, his lungs straining for any oxygen where there is none. He knows Jaskier knows this too. 

“There’s more dirt coming in,” he says matter of factly. “I should probably conserve my air, but I’ve never been one for silence, don’t think I ever will be. Not until… never thought I’d get a coffin, and yet…” Jaskier coughs. “I can’t even say it. All my words were about him, and I can’t say them. I miss him. I miss that bastard.” 

“I don’t think he’ll miss me,” Jaskier says softly. “I hope he thinks of me when he hears my songs. I hope… _oh Fishmonger, oh Fishmonger, come quell your daughter’s hunger…_ ”

_I think about you every damn minute, Jask._

Geralt knows he won’t make it in time. No matter how fast Roach runs, it doesn’t change the fact that he has no idea _where_ Jaskier is. So, he grabs onto the feeling inside his gut and _tugs._

“Geralt,” Jaskier says. He’s been speaking directly to Geralt for the last 10 minutes. “Don’t hate me. For all the misfortune I brought you… ” 

“What do you want?” Yen’s eyes flash as she steps out of the portal. She’s pissed. As she has a right to be. But she came, she came, that’s the important thing. 

“Forgive me,” Jaskier begs.

“If you’re going to apologize, it’s only courteous if you actually say the words yourself, not hide behind your pet bard,” Yen drawls. “Where is he, anyways?” 

“I think you would’ve liked the coast.”

“Find him,” Geralt pleads, handing her the xenovox. He’s never asked Yen for anything, and he’s asking now. 

“You’d find a way to hate it. Drowners or sirens or just sand in your ass. That’s my Geralt, can’t do anything without complaining.”

“Bard?” Yen calls into the small box. “He can’t hear us, can he,” she murmurs. “He’s not listening for us.” 

“Not my Geralt. Roach’s Geralt, Yennefer’s Geralt, never my Geralt. I’m your Jaskier though. Even if you don’t want me. I’ve always been… _you fool, better get out of sight…_ I’ll be off your hands at least.” 

Jaskier is silent for a couple minutes, then starts screaming, sobbing, pounding the top of the coffin. His sobs cut off into coughs as more dirt trickles in. 

“How long has he been doing this?” 

“Please,” Geralt says. _I’ll do anything._

“This isn’t for you,” Yen replies. He understands. Jaskier deserves far more than he does. 

They don’t know how much time is left. 

Jaskier has fallen silent, for the most part. They can still hear him sing a snatch of lyrics occasionally. Mostly, he cries. Geralt never wants to hear that sound again. 

Thankfully, the xenovorex can be tracked rather easily. 

Jaskier goes completely silent. 

They portal into a clearing in a forest, Geralt throwing himself down and digging his fingers into the freshly disturbed dirt. He can feel his nails cracking against the stones in the soil, but he doesn’t care. 

“Geralt.” 

Geralt growls, he doesn’t care what Yen has to say. What matters is to get Jaskier out. He has to get Jaskier free. 

She throws a shovel at him; if he insists on doing this by himself, at least it will be faster with tools.

Eventually, he hits wood. The only thing stopping him from stabbing the shovel down to break the wood is fear of harming Jaskier. Carefully, he lifts the lid, offering a hand to the dirt-covered man under him. 

Blue eyes blink slowly at him, squinting at the sudden harsh light. Jaskier’s head rolls to the side. “Look at that, there are two of you,” he wheezes. 

He can tell the bard needs a few minutes to regain his bearings and isn’t going to get up by himself. Geralt crouches, grabs Jaskier gently by the waist, and slings him over his shoulder. 

Jaskier’s fingers loosen and he drops the xenovorex with a quiet _thud._ Likely he had it in a pocket before… whatever… happened, and it’s sheer luck that he had it. Geralt doesn’t want to imagine what would’ve happened if he didn’t. The bard would have faded into local legend, never to be heard from again, remembered only by a grumpy old witcher who abandoned him in a fit of rage. 

_My fault._

He lays Jaskier down on the grass, watching the bard take heaving breaths. 

After a couple minutes, Jaskier sits up. “Forgive me-” he starts. 

“Forgive me,” Geralt interrupts. “Jask, I’m sorry.” 

Geralt expects several responses. Shouting, maybe. Thanks. A snarky comment about timing. He doesn’t expect what Jaskier says next. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Jaskier is looking at Yen with wide eyes. 

“Saving your miserable life,” she says. 

“Certainly more miserable now that you’re here.” His voice lacks any heat though, and he shakily gets to his feet. They’re all shocked when he stumbles over and gives Yen a huge hug. “Thank you,” he croaks. 

Yen shoots Geralt an incredulous look over the bard’s shoulder. Geralt can’t offer her anything, he’s just as shocked. Hesitantly, she embraces him back, holding him as he shudders into her dress. 

“I don’t know how you found me,” Jaskier says eventually, stepping back, “but thank you.” 

“Xenovorex,” she replies. “I didn’t know you had a set, bard.” 

Jaskier pales. “Oh cock, that old thing works? Wow. You must have heard some very embarrassing things. I tend to say a lot in times of slight emotional distress.” 

“And I will hold them over your head forever,” she promises. He smirks a little at that. 

“You could’ve died,” Geralt says. 

For the first time, Jaskier acknowledges Geralt’s presence. He looks almost surprised to see the witcher. 

“Didn’t,” he replies. His voice wavers. Yeah, he’s going to have a nice long breakdown about his close-demise and Geralt when he gets the fuck away from here. He’s a performer, he thinks he can hold on until then. Gods… why is Geralt here? He had his wish. 

Geralt takes a step forward. Instinctively, Jaskier takes a step back. They both freeze. 

“I’m sorry,” Geralt says again. “I was unfair. I didn’t mean any of it. I don’t hate you, Jask. Having you in my life is the blessing.” 

Jaskier opens his mouth, to say what, he doesn’t know, but what comes out is a choked sob. 

He can’t catch his breath, he feels like he’s suffocating all over again. He sucks the air that won’t come in desperately. 

When he comes back to himself again, his face feels tight, the tear tracks drying, and he has Geralt’s arm pulled tightly to his chest and Yennefer’s hand brushing through his hair, muttering something he can’t make out. 

They’ll have to all talk about this sometime. He’ll have to process the attack, the burial, he’s sure they have questions he will have to answer. They’ll need to talk about Geralt’s behaviour, about the sudden lack of animosity between the three, about this new thing they’ve started to build. But for now, they are together, and they are safe.


End file.
